


but darling, you can stay

by wreckofherheart



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4899301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckofherheart/pseuds/wreckofherheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They’re both a little lost.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Wandering.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Hopeless souls, searching for some sort of comfort.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Maybe that’s what Angie wants. Maybe that is why she fled from Papa’s wrath. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Maybe that is why the train is so delayed. So that she and this damaged Marine may meet, that they’ll talk; that they’ll talk about nothing and yet, still manage to make each other smile.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>They smile, in the darkest depths of their lives, and Angie treasures that.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She decides, like Peggy, that they cannot be apart.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>It is an irrational but wise choice. It’s the only choice which makes sense.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	but darling, you can stay

     The runaway sees her first.

     An hour ago, the train was delayed. 

     Half an hour ago, the train was cancelled. 

     The next train will arrive in approximately three hours. Most passengers have gone, lacking the patience to wait. There are other alternatives to getting home. At the station, it is cold and dark, and too quiet.

     She sits on her suitcase, and observes. A man walks past, donning a business suit, hair combed back. He doesn’t see her, lost in his own mind. His own thoughts and woes. And she almost envies him. He’s obviously wealthy, he obviously has a family waiting at home, and she wonders if he takes that all for granted. If he’s so lost in his fortune, he doesn’t notice anybody else.

     In a way, she would like that. To have money, to have a family. But she doesn’t want to wear a business suit––she wants to wear _many_ suits, a thousand costumes; she wants to play the businesswoman, and then she wants to play the runaway. She wants to play every character that roams the earth, and, afterwards, return home to dinner. That’s what she’s always wanted.

     Except the theatre is a nasty place. Competition is deadly, and nobody cares about you unless you do, indeed, have money. Or, you know somebody within the theatre who can help push you up the ladder of success. After all, it’s not what you know; it’s _who_ you know, and Angie has learnt that the hard way. She knows she has skill, she knows she has talent, but that doesn’t stop the director from scrunching up his nose at her. 

     That’s not why she ran from home, though.

     It’s the woman’s dark uniform which startles Angie. Frightens her, even. Angie remains seated, eyes on the soldier who has just appeared onto the station. She stands in such a fascinating way; so serious and firm. As if expecting a bell to be tolled, and she’ll suddenly have to jump into action. Her posture is perfect. She doesn’t slouch. Her chin is high, and her shoulders are rolled back, and one would think she had an iron rod shoved up her spine.

     Maybe she is off-duty. Angie isn’t sure, because this woman is still wearing her uniform. Black, with red lines around the hems, and brass buttons. White trousers, and belt. Far too smart for everyday civilian life. Has she just returned from somewhere? Is she working? It’s her face Angie focusses on next, and her face does not match her scary attire. 

     She has a soft expression, and warm, dark eyes. A smooth, warm complexion which helps Angie feel more comfortable. Clearly this soldier is strong, very fit, but she hasn’t lost her femininity in the slightest. Angie observes while the soldier studies the train times. Not a word of complaint. The soldier leans back against the wall, pulls out a packet of cigarettes from her pocket and smokes. 

     How odd. Angie never thought somebody working for the service would smoke, but she doesn’t consider herself very knowledgable anyway. She twitches a smile, and looks away from the soldier, eyes on the railway track. It is getting cold. The chill nips at her skin, and she shudders, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. Perhaps it was a bad idea to run away, oh a _silly_ idea. Papa will come looking for her. He will come looking for her, livid and red-faced and he’ll be so _horrible_. 

     The runaway’s plan was to get to New York, find a job. Start her own life.

     It’s stupid. Some fantasy she wrote in her mind when she was a child.

     ‘Are you lost?’

     Angie’s brows shoot up, and she looks to her right. 

     Never has she heard such a strong British accent before; she thought people only sounded like that in the movies. The soldier is looking down at her, cigarette gone. Angie can’t tell if she’s concerned or disinterested. 

     ‘I––I––No?’

     ‘Oh,’ she mutters, ‘I see.’ She raises a brow, and turns to the track. ‘I only ask because you do realise the next train isn’t in the next couple of hours.’

     ‘Three!’ Angie corrects, smiling, ‘Yeah, I know.’

     The soldier chuckles breathily. ‘I apologise. I didn’t mean to intrude.’

     ‘You’re not intruding!’ Angie jumps to her feet. ‘It’s actually kinda nice to know someone’s lookin’ out for me.’

     ‘Are you returning home?’

     ‘Nah, I, uh, I’m sort of lookin’ for one right now.’

     ‘Don’t tell me you don’t have shelter?’

     ‘Oh! I got some money on me. You don’t need to worry,’ Angie frantically waves her hands in dismissal, ‘Bet you got enough on your plate anyways.’

     ‘Not exactly,’ she replies. Then, she offers Angie a hand to shake. ‘Peggy Carter.’

     Angie grins. There’s something so funny and endearing about this woman; her manners and the way she speaks. ‘Angie Martinelli,’ she takes her hand. ‘It sure is nice to meet ya.’

     ‘And you.’ Peggy’s hand falls back to her side. ‘You’re not from America.’

     It is a statement, and a correct statement. Angie is impressed. ‘What makes ya think that?’

     ‘Your accent, dear. It’s fairly strong, but I caught the odd Italian pronunciation. I suppose your name was also a bit of a giveaway.’

     ‘Jeez, you can read me like a book.’

     This amuses Peggy. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. To make it fair, you’re free to assume my background as well.’

     ‘You’re obviously English,’ Angie smirks. ‘And, uh, part a’the forces. The getup couldn’t fool anybody.’

     ‘Ah.’ Peggy looks down at her attire. ‘Yes.’ She looks back at Angie. ‘A Marine. I don’t mean to startle you. Frankly, I should not be dressed like this when off-duty, but my time was very much delayed and I had little choice.’

     ‘Sounds kinda dangerous to be a Marine.’

     ‘Not necessarily. I’d say you’re more at risk getting hit by a car, than getting killed from this sort of lifestyle.’

     ‘Seem pretty confident of yourself there, English.’

     The nickname takes Peggy off guard for a moment. A second of intimacy is passed between them, and Angie has to smile at her flustered nature. Clearly the uniform, the posture––this is only the surface of Peggy Carter. ‘I suppose I am confident, Angie.’ Her voice has gone quiet. ‘I know what this life is like.’

     Angie stops. She feels a tad guilty, possibly because she made Peggy flustered or maybe because Peggy isn’t telling Angie something she ought to know. She uses her words carefully, ‘Where’s home for you?’

     ‘Home is Brooklyn,’ Peggy answers. ‘Although, home is a little less familiar nowadays.’

     ‘Oh, yeah? How so?’

     ‘There’s just––less of it,’ Peggy shrugs. ‘Home used to be with another, but that all felt apart.’ 

     She lingers, hovering on the topic for a while, considering whether she should reveal her history to this complete stranger. Angie is patient. She is gifted with a talent in listening, and says nothing. Peggy’s eyes meet hers. Angie’s heart leaps. Those irises, gorgeous and beautiful, riddled with too many emotions.

     ‘I think maybe home is in a person.’

     Angie frowns.

     ‘Do you disagree?’

     ‘No. I just never thought about it.’

     ‘And what about you? What’s your next step?’

     ‘Catching this train,’ Angie tries to laugh, but Peggy’s question––it hits. Reality has come back to her in full throttle, and she truly has no idea. ‘My next step is getting _away_ , English. I got no business here.’

     ‘Why is that?’

     ‘You say home is in a person; I think Hell is too.’

     Peggy blinks, and downcasts her gaze. ‘What are you running away from, dear?’

     ‘More like _who_.’

     The Marine’s expression hardens. ‘Is somebody after you?’

     ‘Not yet. He’ll notice me gone soon enough, but I can do this. You shouldn’t doubt me, English.’

     ‘How can I? I do not know you.’

     ‘You know me better than most people already.’

     Peggy smiles, and it’s breathtaking. A smile, which blossoms like a flower, shy of revealing its most colourful petals. Too afraid to open up; too scared to become _vulnerable_. She smiles, and it is brief, but it is a smile all the same. ‘I truly find it hard to believe somebody like you is running away.’

     ‘Why say that?’

     ‘You seem like a kind girl. What could anybody have against you?’

     ‘Hm.’ Angie purses her lips, ‘Should ask Papa that.’

     ‘Is it him you are running away from?’

     ‘Yeah. Been meaning to for years, and finally got my chance. If only the train wasn’t delayed.’

     Peggy looks up at the times again. She furrows her brows, ‘If you like––’ she turns to Angie, expression serious, ‘––I can wait with you.’

     ‘Would ya really do that?’

     ‘I don’t see why not. I have nowhere else to be.’

     Angie exhales slowly. ‘But what if he finds me? You’ll have to get away somehow.’

     ‘I highly doubt I’ll feel the need to flee, dear.’ Peggy smiles again; that same broken smile. ‘One man is nothing.’

     ‘Have I turned into your damsel in distress now, English?’ Angie teases, ‘Should have a bit a’faith in your fellow gals, y’know? We don’t all have to wear a uniform in order to be strong.’

     ‘I know. You are proof of that.’

     Angie flushes, not expecting her self-flattery to turn back on her. ‘I guess my ambition isn’t to become a soldier like yourself.’

     ‘Oh, really?’

     ‘Mm! I belong on Broadway. With the lights and dancin’––all the singin’, too. I’ve dreamed about that stuff since I was a kid. Still do. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be, but––’ Angie shrugs, ‘––maybe I ain’t cut out for it.’

     ‘Nonsense. If your heart belongs on stage, then do just that. I’m certain you’re an excellent performer.’

     ‘You haven’t seen me.’

     ‘ _Yet_ ,’ Peggy corrects. ‘I am a good judge of character, however, and I can tell. I may not have watched you perform, but I have no doubt in my mind that you own the spotlight once you’re up there.’

     Angie is amazed. No one has ever spoken so kindly towards her. Whenever she’s rambled on about her dreams, her passions, people have either laughed or just nodded without caring. 

     But Peggy? Peggy is different. She’s keen, and she’s willing to voice her support for Angie as well. Angie thinks it almost unfair how _this_ is the day when they meet; why couldn’t have they bumped into each other earlier? When Angie desperately needed a friend to lean on, to come out with wonderful words?

     Then she thinks––

     ––what damaged this poor girl so much, that she has to save everybody she meets?

     Angie’s throat narrows, and she endures far too many sensations for her stranger. She studies Peggy for a while. ‘This is gonna sound weird, but we haven’t met before, have we?’

     ‘No,’ Peggy says. ‘I don’t think so.’

     ‘I swear we’ve met. We must’ve.’

     ‘I’d remember,’ Peggy grins. 

     ‘Hm, never mind, then.’

     ‘Perhaps we have?’ Peggy responds, ‘I admit, I don’t think I’ve ever had such a long conversation before with a complete stranger.’

     ‘Me neither. Maybe we just hit it off that good, English.’

     Or maybe they have, indeed, met. Maybe Angie had passed Peggy on the street one day, and thought nothing of it. Maybe Angie knows somebody who looks like Peggy, but that can’t be the case. Nobody she knows looks like Peggy, nobody she knows stands the way Peggy does, or smiles the way Peggy does. _That smile_. As if clinging desperately onto some sort of hope, some light, and failing each time.

     Maybe she doesn’t know Peggy at all.

     Maybe she is just a stranger.

     A stranger, whom she knows very well.

     ‘Who was he?’

     Peggy reacts. _He_. She inhales. ‘I’m sorry?’

     ‘There was somebody else who made home for you––I guess it was a he.’

     ‘You guess correctly.’ Peggy exhales shakily, and Angie realises she’s stepped onto too fragile ground. She shouldn’t have said anything; she should have minded her own business. She should have–– ‘It was almost a year ago. He died in action. Ever since, everything has been different.’ Peggy clears her throat, and, just like that, everything is all right again. ‘It was a while ago.’

     ‘Does he have a name?’

     ‘He does,’ Peggy’s expression glows slightly, ‘Steve.’

     ‘He must have been good to ya.’

     ‘I think we were good to each other,’ Peggy allows. ‘Anyway. He’s gone now. I’ve had plenty of time to mourn.’

     ‘Can’t get rid a’your emotions that easily, English.’ Peggy squints at her, wearing a knowing smile. ‘You miss him.’

     ‘I think I always will.’ Peggy pauses. ‘I haven’t allowed his death to––’ their gaze locks, ‘––hinder me, so to speak. I’m still here. The least I can do is keep on going.’

     ‘I’m glad ya did, ‘cos I gotta meet you.’

     ‘That you did. I’m glad as well. I think it would be unacceptable of me to let you go on alone.’

     ‘I guess there’s no real harm in having a soldier guide me.’

     ‘You can light the way, if you wish. We’ll find a home for you in no time.’

     Angie loses herself in those eyes, and she struggles to pry her gaze from her. But why should she? Because those eyes, that face, her voice––nothing has ever felt so compelling, nothing has sounded so warm; so real. So friendly and generous and sweet and _normal_. 

     This soldier insists on finding Angie a home, and Angie almost laughs.

     They’re both a little lost.

     Wandering.

     Hopeless souls, searching for some sort of comfort.

     Maybe that’s what Angie wants. Maybe that is why she fled from Papa’s wrath. 

     Maybe that is why the train is so delayed. So that she and this damaged Marine may meet, that they’ll talk; that they’ll talk about nothing and yet, still manage to make each other smile.

     They smile, in the darkest depths of their lives, and Angie treasures that.

     She decides, like Peggy, that they cannot be apart.

     It is an irrational but wise choice. It’s the only choice which makes sense.

     ‘We’ll find one for you as well, English.’

     Peggy’s eyes dance with some distant joy. And Angie smiles at her, because the night is suddenly questioned; neither have any idea what will happen, but it’s a good feeling. It’s a feeling which excites them, makes them shiver; it’s a feeling they never thought they would endure again.

     So, Peggy Carter waits with Angie Martinelli. They wait in each other’s company, sit beside one another, the suitcase forgotten. Angie leans against her Marine soldier, and inhales her scent, the texture of her uniform, the softness of her shoulder, the way she looks at her, breathes, how the world is calmer and _stops_ when their eyes meet, and Angie can live that.

     Whatever this is, whatever this shall be––

     ––she can live that.

     The train arrives, rattling and echoing through the station.

     Angie’s heart races and both she and Peggy stand. Peggy takes the suitcase from Angie, comments on how light it is; but of course it’s light. Angie has nothing to take with her, and one cannot carry a home in a mere suitcase. They step onto the train together, alone, and when the train sets off, chugging towards an undetermined destination, Angie relaxes.

     The runaway flees, a light to her wandering soldier.

     She reaches over and squeezes Peggy’s hand, excited, nervous, happy––complete. Peggy returns her affection in kind.

     When the train stops, they will get off together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was travelling today, and the train was delayed. While I was pacing the station this story came to mind. I enjoy writing short, philosophical oneshots such as these, and hope you enjoy reading them. Thank you very much! See you soon.


End file.
